


Best laid plans

by DragonsinGondolin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Arranged Marriage, M/M, alternate ending: their hierarchies don't know they willingly stopped the Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 21:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19858537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonsinGondolin/pseuds/DragonsinGondolin
Summary: After the Apocalypse, Heaven and Hell come up with a new Shiny Plan: what if an angel and a demon got married? And, of course, it is decided that Aziraphale and Crowley will fulfill this mission. After all, their incompetence cancelled the Apocalypse, so they might as well be punished.Of course, their hierarchies don't need to know that Crowley and Aziraphale are actually perfectly fine with the idea...





	Best laid plans

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> This is a little one-shot inspired by an idea of [Asparklethatisblue](https://asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com/) which sounded really nice. It's a play on the famous "arranged marriage" trope. Anyway, this one-shot is dedicated to Sparkle.  
> You can find me on tumblr as well [here](https://dragonsingondolin.tumblr.com/).

It was such a beautiful morning, and Aziraphale could not have dreamt of a better day. Sure, he had had to give the weather a little miracle help to chase a few persistent clouds, but it was only fair, right? After all, who could blame him for wanting everything to be perfect on his own wedding?

Not that anyone in Heaven should know about him being happy. In fact, it was much better if none of them was aware of that.

It had proven particularly difficult to keep his excitation and enthusiasm hidden, truth be told. He was vaguely aware that he had looked like a squeaky hamster about to receive some treats. Luckily, the archangels were stupidly oblivious, sometimes. Gabriel had been so busy explaining this new plan and how it was actually a very clever idea on his part – he did like the sound of his own voice a bit too much, something that had always annoyed Aziraphale significantly. The idea, if he had followed his intentions right, was to sign some sort of truce with the demons, but only so they would let their guard down. Meanwhile, they would have time to regroup and plan whatever was next in the Ineffable Plan. Sure, he had thought, whatever helped Gabriel and the others feel better about themselves.

The plan, however, had been drafted in such a way that Aziraphale would have to shoulder the duty almost singlehandedly. Well, he had done that for the past 6000 years anyway. Except for appearing on earth every once in a while to deliver important divine messages to a few choice humans, Gabriel had not been very much involved in anything. Now, once again, Aziraphale was designated to do Heaven’s dirty work. In that case, though, him being the reason why their original plan had failed might have prompted this as a punishment. This is what you get for stopping the Apocalypse from happening.

Well, if it meant he was allowed, nay, required to marry his demon, he wasn’t going to complain.

-

Crowley had wanted to burst out laughing when Beelzebub had made this unexpected suggestion. They were at his place and the Prince of Hell was standing across the table from Crowley, who was sitting on his own throne-like chair. Beelzebub was drumming on the desk with their fingers – and really, just having the Prince of Hell in his flat was a novelty in itself, the demon mused. They always sent someone else to deliver messages. Or Hell used the Bentley’s radio. He was looking at them through his sunglasses and trying to keep a straight face, which was not an easy feat to accomplish after such an announcement.

 _Thunderbolt and lightning, very very frightening_ … indeed.

“You screwed our plans, Crawly,” Beelzebub said in a reproachful yet strangely matter-of-fact voice, “it’s only fair that you deal with the consequences, now.”

“Point taken. But how did that… solution presented itself?”

In all honesty, he was being genuinely curious. That Heaven and Hell would decide to sit at the negotiation table and come up with a plan to… what… form some sort of alliance through marriage? This sounded wild to him. He felt as if the sky was falling onto his head – which was more or less what was happening, in a way.

“Well, the angels proposed it. Gabriel was pissed about the whole thing, you know. I don’t think he likes it when things don’t go as planned.”

“Yeah, angels aren’t used to things not going their way in general. I mean, remember the Falling?”

“True. And, well, I think he wanted to think he could still control the situation.”

“Understandable. And you? Why did you agree to this?”

Beelzebub looked annoyed for a moment and started pacing the room.

“Listen, there is very little we can do about what happened, Crowley. You and that stupid angel messed up the apocalypse with your incompetence, and there isn’t going to be another one, from what I’ve been told. The War is out of the question, now.”

“So both sides are going to… just form some sort of alliance? All because we can’t have the Big Bad War we were promised? What happened to fighting each other by proxy on earth?”

“Oh, don’t think that’s off the table, Crawly. Just… we have to be creative about it, now. Play it cool. Be sneaky.”

Ah, so Gabriel wasn’t the only one who was trying to look like he had everything under control when he obviously didn’t, hmm. Anyway, Crowley had a choice to make, and he had to make it in the next few seconds. He obviously could not show Beelzebub that the situation actually pleased him, but how to play it? Disgusted but accepting the sacrifice? Rebellious but ready to compromise with a bit of persuasion? Or maybe…

“You know what, Beebz?”

The Prince of Hell winced at the nickname, but let it pass. They wanted to see what Crowley had in mind. He had some atonement to do, after all, let the demon prove he could still be of some use in the grand scheme of things – or in the smaller-scale scheme. Especially seeing how they were unable to destroy him. Crowley didn’t pay any attention to his boss’s annoyance.

“That could work in our favour, in the end. I mean… a demon married to an angel? That’s a good opportunity to corrupt him and get to the lot of them.”

“You think you can do that?” Beelzebub definitively sounded sarcastic.

“Bah, I do that all the time with humans,” he chose to ignore the fact that, mostly, all he could manage was mildly inconveniencing them, “I suppose an angel will take a bit more time and skill, but it’s possible. Besides, I’ve been fighting him since the garden of Eden anyway, I’ve had time to study him.”

Studying him, yeah. That was one way to put it. He was looking at his own fingernails, trying to pretend that it wasn’t a big deal for him, just another evil day at the evil workplace. If he had been able to sweat, he would probably have been sweating at that moment. Fortunately, his demonic bureaucracy had not yet managed to entirely pierce his smooth bastard’s façade. He was slippery, even when he wasn’t in his serpent form. After all, his hierarchy was convinced that the Apocalypse had failed not out of his own volition, but because he had simply been incompetent in his handling of the whole antichrist business. Crowley wasn’t sure how he had managed to feed them this particular lie, but for some reason, it had worked. And since he had *cough* miraculously *cough* resisted the punishment they had devised for his incompetence, they had decided he could remain on earth and keep doing… whatever it was he had been doing for the past 6000 years. But Beelzebub seemed to be eager to cash up on that presence on earth no matter what.

He wasn’t going to complain about that one, though.

“You agree to the plan, then? You’ll marry the angel?”

“Sure, why not. Will be fun!” he looked up at the archdemon, catching himself, “ruining the sanctity of marriage, I mean. Forcing the angel into an unsatisfactory arrangement. Keeping the other angels on their toes…”

“Alright. I’ll leave you to prepare as you see fit. Don’t disappoint us… again.”

The non-existing bead of sweat would have dropped to the floor as Beelzebub crossed the apartment, closing the front door behind them in a surprisingly calm and respectful manner. Demons and angels could not manifest directly inside his flat. They had to come through the front door. That’s one of the first things he had done in this place when moving in. He had done that with every place he had ever used as his abode through time. There were very few things worse than being woken up from one of his sweet delicious naps by a demonic colleague appearing inside his room and staring him down.

Sooo… he had managed to convince Beelzebub that he was on board with the marriage thing to corrupt the angel and dupe heaven. Sure. It wasn’t for any other reason that he was enthusiastic with the project. Absolutely not. What do you mean?

-

They were dining at the Ritz when they next saw each other to talk about this odd proposal – or rather, Aziraphale was dining and Crowley was watching him dine, only sipping on some wine. The latter concluded his account of his meeting with Beelzebub with a shrug and the following comment:

“I mean, it’s not like it’s going to change a lot for us, right? We already spend most of our time together… not that they need to know.”

“Sure. But we will have to make it look convincing. The Apocalypse put us on a thin line. If they realise that we are, in fact, already consorting, they will not like that.”

“Consorting, uh? Good one, Angel.”

Aziraphale flashed his hallmark shy but satisfied smile, pleased that Crowley had noticed his little play on word. He had ceased to care for Heaven’s opinion on his job as the failed Apocalypse was on its way, but there was one immortal entity whose good opinion he was still very much… courting. However, as much as he didn’t care about Heaven’s opinion, he didn’t want the angels to annoy them further. The whole holy water bath/fire of hell episode had been disconcerting and tiresome, even though they had been fortunate enough to work that one out, in the end. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of what the alternative could have been. Agnes Nutter be blessed, wherever her soul was now.

“If we play our cards well, they might back off the earth for a while and stop their scheming. I would not mind having some peace and quiet again.”

“Hard same.”

Crowley sipped more wine, then asked.

“By the way, angel… what was your attitude when Gabriel told you?”

“What do you mean?”

“How did you react? I convinced Beelzebub that I was on board with the plan to corrupt your angelic soul or whatever…”

“Clever. Well, I played the martyr. Disgusted but willing to follow Her plan if I must. But the ‘corrupting’ is a good idea.”

“Uh?”

“I mean, pretending that I could influence you, negate your evil, this sort of thing.”

“Right, a continuation of our supposed job, but more… closely.”

“Oldie but goodie.”

“Let’s hope they fall for it. They are stupid enough to.”

They raised their glasses to their plan, and to their new though relatively similar life together on earth.

-

Life together on earth. Aziraphale liked the sound of that.

He had to disagree with Crowley on one thing, however: things were inevitably going to change to some extent. If only because they needed to convince Hell and Heaven that they were indeed trying to accomplish their missions to the best of their abilities. Unsurprisingly than, they later found themselves discussing the changes they had to make so things would work while they were planning for the ceremony itself.

Oh, and that had been a wild ride, too. He had not realised how utterly bonkers both sides would get over a wedding ceremony, honestly. After all, weddings were not really a thing for celestials. They were definitively a human thing. Yet both sides seemed to have their own specific vision of what a wedding would entail, and neither wanted to allow the other side to get its own vision forward. A nightmare. Crowley and him had managed to get the point across that if they wanted to make this work, they would have to do it conjointly and stop yelling at each other. Both sides needed to either meet in the middle or accept to do things the human way so that there would be no conflict nor contradiction.

Aziraphale had secretly hoped that they would agree to the latter option and, to his eternal surprise, they actually had. Both sides had found it easier to just let go of all their demands as long as they both let go, than to allow the other side to have its way, even partially.

This had effectively meant a marriage on earth, with humans allowed to attend, flowers everywhere, and most importantly, cake. He had thought that there could be no greater pleasure than the crêpes he had eaten during the Revolution – after Crowley had come to rescue him from the guillotine – and maybe that was why they had tasted especially good now that he thought of it. But tasting different types of wedding cake had been absolutely perfect. There were so many varieties, tastes, colours, fillings, toppings. No, the difficulty had been to pick just the one. He had trusted the opinion of the medium and the witch, Madam Tracy and Anathema having been kind enough to go on the cake eating rampage with him, as moral support as well as actual tasters. They had done enough tasting to actually feed a small army… a small army that comprised three people. He had been satisfied and absolutely high on sugar. A good day, overall.

But as for the changes that would have to happen in their lives, well, living together was probably the biggest one, Crowley had pointed out. The demon had proposed a similar thing before, when they thought that Aziraphale’s bookshop had gone in flames forever. It had been very sweet of him. The angel had been mildly frightened of saying yes, but also surprisingly pleased by the offer – more pleased than he had cared to admit. He had been in a mood to tell Heaven to go fuck itself at that point, all things considered.

This had not really changed, though. Especially not after what Crowley had reported of the trial – which had not actually been a trial at all – they had planned for him. An execution without any chance to defend himself and for what, for all that the archangels knew, was only incompetence. Major incompetence that had led to the failure of the most important step of the Ineffable plan, sure, but he was of the opinion that executing someone for incompetence was too harsh a punishment. Well, executing anyone, really.

Yet at that time, Aziraphale had decided not to take Crowley on his offer. Mostly because he had thought he still had the possibility to pretend that he and Crowley had not become friends and turned their backs on their respective hierarchies at all – something that proved wise given the arranged marriage situation. And perhaps a tiny bit because, deep inside, he was afraid Crowley might not have truly meant it. Oh, well, it didn’t matter now.

He turned around to look at himself in the mirror. He was particularly proud of that outfit. Well he was wearing beige trousers and waistcoat. He had briefly considered some sort of robe or toga, to give a nod of acknowledgement to his original angelic outfit, but to be quite honest, nobody in Heaven wore that sort of garment anymore. Moreover, he really felt that he would look like he was draped in what the humans called bedsheets, even if he invested in a particularly fine fabric. No, that would not do, not on his wedding day. He had standards, after all. Suit it was, then. That being said, he was certainly not going to select a boring plain suit. The trousers and waistcoat might be beige, but there was, threaded into the fabric of both, a beautiful golden pattern. It was discreet enough, but if the light shone on it, you could see it shimmer. It was almost… flaming, like the sword he had given away to protect the first two humans. The pattern itself was constituted by dozens of feathers going on weaves from the top to the bottom. A touch of angel energy that he was quite proud of. He also loved the soft colours, beige and white, and the gold. He felt they perfectly represented him. His bowtie – wearing a tie instead? Nonsense – as well as the buttons of the waistcoat were also golden. As for the shirt, well, pure white would work well.

He had decided to do without the vest. It would only distract from the glorious pattern of his suit. Besides, it was summer anyway, and even though he technically could not feel the heat, it seemed fair to follow the season. He could tell himself that it was a ‘country-chic’ wedding and it made the foregoing of the vest less odd.

Well, considering the rural location of the festivities and the amount of flowers they had for the decoration, ‘country-chic’ was a pretty spot on description. Aziraphale put a lovely white lily on his waistcoat and gave himself one last look of satisfaction in the mirror.

-

“Listen up, you all! It is in your best interest to look perfect today! If I catch any of you doing some funny business or sleeping on the job, it’s over for the lot of you, understood?”

As ridiculous as it may sound, the flowers actually, physically, straightened themselves and corrected their postures, even shone their best colours brighter. Well, if plants could shiver, they could probably do that as well. He had spent the last twenty minutes or so making sure they understood that disappointing him on his best day would end up very poorly for them. Aziraphale had left the floral arrangement to him, seeing how he was better accustomed to plants, and he would be damned – again – if he let his angel down and made the decoration anything less than perfect.

His angel. He could say that now, right? They were going to be married today. Legally they were each other’s to have and to hold… or whatever the formulation was. He sauntered away from the plants, the spring on his steps more enthusiastic than before.

He still had to put on his suit. Frankly, he had been at a complete loss as to what to wear. He had had clothes that could be considered formal by today’s standards, indeed. But he had been more than happy to be able to wear more casual clothes for the past 60 years or so. Bless the fifties for showing him the light, with rock and roll entering his life. But the downside of this was that… well… he wasn’t sure what formal dress code was supposed to look like, these days. Aziraphale had not needed a lot of time to pick his own outfit, of course, and Crowley had felt panic rise in his mind. He was going to be utterly inadequate, wasn’t he? Aziraphale would look as dashing and soft and perfect as ever, and he would look like the ridiculously scruffy snake that he was.

In the midst of the panic, young Newton had decided to take pity on him. He had seen what Aziraphale was going to wear and was willing to put him out of his misery by helping him pick something perfect. To be fair, everybody among their human friends had seen it. Only Crowley – for human superstition reason – and the cohort of Hell and Heaven – for obvious uncaring reason – hadn’t. He was slightly concerned about Newton’s tastes, but it had gone surprisingly well. Young Pulsifer was an enabler, he had found: not really a big and loud personality, but incredibly good at helping other people’s personalities shine. A good listener, too, and a sort of quiet and helpful wisdom in his advices. He had not thrown clothes at Crowley and said ‘that will do’. He had walked beside him, asking the right question and providing support, so that Crowley could express his full potential. People like Newton were seriously underrated, the demon decided.

Newton had asked one question first, and it had been the foundation on which his outfit had been built: What do you want this day to be about? He had thought about it for a moment but the answer was pretty obvious. He wanted this day to be about Aziraphale and him. Hell could go to… ah. Well it could go fuck itself. And Heaven with it. He wasn’t doing this for them, whether or not it was part of their new shiny plan. He was marrying his angel because, frankly, Aziraphale was the only thing that mattered in the whole universe. Even though he had grown to like Humanity and Earth, he had been ready to leave it behind to escape with Aziraphale without an afterthought. Alpha Centauri… well that would have been a funny location for a wedding. Honeymoon, perhaps? He’d have to talk about that with Aziraphale. And, yes, this was what it was all about, always and forever: Aziraphale and him.

Starting from these premises, he had decided that there would be no dark ritualistic robe nor funny business with satanic inscriptions, as Hell had suggested during their negotiations. He was going to wear a suit, and he was going to wear the most rock and roll suit he could think of that suited his and Aziraphale’s tastes. Because, if the angel thought he was being subtle when looking at him, he was kidding himself. Crowley realised retrospectively all the little gazes the angel had given him. For the longest time, he had misinterpreted them because why would his precious angel find anything of interest in him? No, surely Aziraphale was simply doing his angelic work and thwarting his plans while also trying to drag him towards the good side. What an absolute idiot he had been. He could now think back on all these looks and think ‘oh, yeah, here it is: longing, love, and a hint of lust’. Not very observant for a demon, right?

He had selected black trousers. The cut was slimmer than what was usual for wedding suits, but he could not bring himself to care and Newton had said it looked fine. He had a vest, too, but had decided against the traditional waistcoat. Nope sir. But the trousers and vest were not plain black, though. It looked like snake skin, with a reddish and greenish hue. It was only fair, right? He was the original serpent, the one who had tempted Eve and provoked the casting of Humanity out of the garden, after all. No tie nor bow-tie. He had a plain black shirt made of a material that was in fact quite light and just a little bit transparent, and he was going to let the top buttons open. Alright, he had miracled the clothes; of course he had. He had not owned any human-made clothing for the 6000 years he had spent on Earth and he was not going to start now.

He had no idea if his and Aziraphale’s outfits would match or look odd when they would stand side by side, but Newton had given a nod of satisfaction and declared that they would look fantastic together. Honestly, in his state of nervousness, that was enough reassurance.

He was looking at himself in the mirror of his own room with a critical look – yes, apparently the brides were supposed to sleep separately the night before. Sure, they didn’t need to sleep, technically speaking, but that had seemed entirely unnecessary. Although, with angels and demons around, maybe being cautious about these things was wiser so that they did not realise what their actual relationship was. Didn’t mean he had to like it, though. Well, all things considered, that suit wasn’t too bad. He liked the way it hung to his silhouette and the pattern was quite rad. Dashing, if he must say so. He secretly hoped that Aziraphale would just devour him with his eyes like some delicious sushi. With the envoys of Heaven and Hell looking at them. And perhaps later…

He shook his head. The moment was ill chosen for such thoughts. He tugged on his vest a little and exited the room on his long and swaging limbs. The ceremony was fast approaching and he wanted to make sure the kid had the rings.

-

Adam had the rings in the pocket of his trousers and was constantly checking to see if it was still there. He was particularly aware of the importance of his mission, mostly because Piper spent her time reminding him that it was.

Piper had very little patience for the institution in marriage, as a general rule. She thought it was a useless complicated ritual that people absolutely did not need to be happy. She also thought that institutionalised monogamy was a way for the patriarchy to control women and their bodies. As for gay people, she obviously sympathised with their will to be allowed to be together, but it didn’t change the fact that, as far as she was concerned, marriage was unnecessary and redundant and that she believed that you could well be together without signing a stupid piece of paper. But she was willing to make a compromise this time. Her understanding was that her celestial friends were trying to own their respective hierarchies, and that she could respect. Use the instruments of the patriarchy against them. Nice. She had been on board with the plan afterwards and was making sure that things were going according to it.

She had therefore successfully impressed upon Adam’s mind that the rings were absolutely essential. On top of that, Wensleydale was also enlisted to make sure that Adam was making sure that he had the rings. And so Adam was nervously checking his pocket regularly, and Wensleydale was checking that he was checking. Brian was simply interested in knowing when they would be allowed to eat some cake. The four of them were sitting in the town’s hall, having received one last briefing from Crowley, waiting for the whole thing to actually start.

The only thing that Hell had been absolutely adamant about when they had forfeited their claim to a hellish wedding ceremony was that they wanted none of that religious wedding nonsense. Surprisingly, Heaven had not been too keen on that either. When asked to elaborate on this, Michael had simply shaken her head and said that, in all fairness, no religious canon that humans had come up with truly encompassed the full scope of what Heaven could consider proper rites. Only if Heaven had been allowed to conduct their own version of the ceremony would it have been agreeable to them, and there was no way (in hell) Hell would agree to that. In consequence of what requiring an Anglican minister, of all things, to participate was absolutely preposterous.

Aziraphale and Crowley would thus be married in the town hall of Tadfield by the mayor, without any religious paraphernalia or rites. However, Beelzebub and Gabriel would be witnessing, their signatures officially sealing the pact in the eyes of both God and Satan. That being said, whether or not God actually had eyes was arguable, or even a physical form for that matter, and people had probably already argued about all of that for centuries. What the general consensus was probably did not matter much. Very few of the people sitting in the town hall that day really cared about that question, anyway, and so for various reason.

What they only cared for was the wedding – once again for various reason.

The angels and demons were obviously here only so that the new plan would work. Sandalphon and Uriel had started a bet to pass time, the former being absolutely certain that Aziraphale would not do his job properly, once again, and would bolt, and the latter thinking that Crowley would be the one to fuck it up. Both had absolutely no faith in the ceremony being performed. They simply could not agree with who would be the biggest coward. Michael had her eyes half closed but was in fact observing the demons sited on the opposite side, ready to smite them all if they tried anything. Always the warrior angel. And, on that other side, the demons were bored out of their minds but surprisingly well behaved. Only Hastur looked absolutely pissed off about sitting here. Crowley had downright murdered his best buddy and he was convinced that the bastard had betrayed them. Yet nobody in Hell had wanted to believe him. Well, not fully anyway.

The humans, on the other hand, were here because they genuinely wished for the two celestials to be happy. The Them were sitting on the front row and waiting excitedly – and nervously, for Adam. Newton and Anathema were whispering to each other. Anathema was regretting burning away the new prophesies. It had seemed to be a good idea, but Heaven and Hell coming up with that new plan had made her doubt her own action. Well, it was too late, now, as Newton was currently pointing out.

They had been waiting for a little while now, and so they all started when the door of the room suddenly opened behind them. They all turned around, expectation written all over their faces.

Beelzebub and Gabriel entered side by side. They would never have accepted that the other would be entering first, which defeated the purpose of them flanking their respective agent to escort them to the altar… uh, well, the non-religious table on which their names were to be signed. They had to compromise once again.

This effectively meant that the engaged pair thus crossed the door together as well. Crowley was swaggering and holding his head high. There was something defiant in his eyes, but only the humans could tell what it was. Aziraphale was beaming, his bright smile even brighter than usual. You could light up a whole stadium with a smile like this one. Both were doing their respective versions of ‘I have the honour of accepting the difficult but rewarding task appointed to me for the glory of my side and I will do my best to corrupt/redeem my opponent’ – which, for the humans in the room, translated to ‘6000 bloody years I’ve waited for this moment and I might actually discorporate from the sheer happiness I am feeling right now’.

They reached the other side of the room, and the official part of the process finally started.

-

They were sitting at the table in the back of the tent. Aziraphale was finishing his cake, looking around them lazily. The cohort of Hell and Heaven had bolted as soon as the official part of the process had been dealt with. Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale mind, though. It meant that they could finally be their own selves for the second part of the evening – the dancing, the eating, the merriment. The demon had his head on his angel’s shoulder and was looking at Adam and Dog showing some new tricks they had worked on to Shadwell.

“You know what? I’m almost sad that Warlock isn’t here.”

“That kid was a pain in the arse,” Crowley’s voice emphasised the sSs sounds.

“We raised him!”

“Yeah, that’s my point.”

The demon sighed. He didn’t want to hurt his angel’s feelings, but some things needed to be said plainly.

“Listen, angel, we tried. But let’s be honest, we sucked at that job! The kid is a brat.”

“Oh, well,” Aziraphale made a face as if he had swallowed a lemon whole, but finally admitted, “I suppose you’re right. Still, I am disappointed he’s not here.”

“Hmm. Yeah, maybe I’m a bit disappointed too.”

“I don’t miss the bodyguards, though.”

“Oh no, absolutely not.”

Their little conversation was interrupted by someone calling them from the dancefloor.

“Hey boys!”

Madam Tracy was looking at them with a fond expression. She was wearing a lovely emerald green dress. It went well with her ginger hair.

“I believe it is time for your first dance together.”

“Oh, right! Forgot about that,” Crowley mumbled.

Well, Aziraphale thought, this was not the right time for a Gavotte. Luckily, he had taken some more dancing lessons the past few months. From what he had observed about humanity, the favoured wedding dance was the Waltz. He expected that could not be too difficult to learn. One only needed to remember the right rhythm, it seemed – one, two, three; one, two, three. Easy peasy.

As for Crowley, he had never been too good at dancing up until the mid-20th century. Back in the days, everything had to be very complex, with precise rules that had to be respected to the letter. He didn’t really like rules as a general rule, so he did not want to impose those on himself in something that he felt must come from the heart. But lately, dancing had been allowed more freedom and improvisation. It might not be considered good dancing, but it was authentic and genuine, and that was all he required. Yet, he also knew that Aziraphale had learnt how to dance a few steps, especially that Gavotte thing, and would be looking forward to this. If there was one single reason for him to impose the learning of dancing steps on himself, well here it was. He had actually taken a few lessons to learn the Waltz, if you can imagine.

They stood up and walked up to the centre of the tent, which had been left free to allow people to dance. The space was surrounded by the flowers that Crowley had selected – and threatened – which gave the impression of dancing in the middle of a garden… perhaps The Garden. And now wasn’t it an interesting concept, dancing together in the middle of the Garden of Eden?

The music started as both immortal entities took up the pace. All things considered, they were doing quite a good job of it. Anathema, who had never considered dancing as Agnes had never had anything to say about it in her book, was feeling a tad envious of the grace they were exhibiting. Newton having the dexterity of a drunken goose, she expected they would not be particularly talented at it. The angel and demons, on the other hand, seemed to possess a natural ability for movement which was surprising when one considered Crowley’s usual strange gait.

The humans were watching, but Crowley and Aziraphale were now inhabiting a space of their own that was apart from Earth and that did not belong to either Heaven nor Hell. The sort of mental space that only lovers could thread together, far from the rest of Creation. Their arms and eyes were intertwined, Crowley having forsaken his sunglasses for the moment. Aziraphale’s blue eyes seemed to radiate even more angelic energy than ever. He gave Crowley a little smile and whispered.

“Do you want to see something interesting?”

He winked and something shifted under Crowley’s hand – the one that rested on the angel’s back. His eyes widened and his lips formed a little ‘o’ as he saw the shimmering pattern of the angel’s waistcoat expand. Tiny little fluttering feathers suddenly formed a halo around Aziraphale’s form, with a pale golden light illuminating his body. The expression on the demon’s face, speaking of admiration and devotion, pleased the angel greatly. The gasps and ‘ohhh’ he could hear from their human friends was also rewarding. But the most rewarding certainly was to gaze up at Crowley’s face and see his emotions plainly written on his features. These emotions filled Aziraphale’s heart and soul with warmth and love.

The wings stayed for the whole duration of the dance, and retracted as the waltz came to a halt. The humans took this cue to join the floor around them. It was like a cocoon of friendship and love. The angel could feel it, and his eyes were a bit teary for a second.

“I can feel it too,” Crowley whispered, “I was afraid to admit it before, but I can still feel the love around me. It never went away when I fell.”

“Oh, Crowley!”

Aziraphale’s hand travelled from the arm of the demon to cup his cheek. He had had the feeling that Crowley could feel more than he admitted, but his insistence that he did not had made him doubt his intuition. He was glad that Crowley finally felt comfortable enough to admit it, but the implication of the thousands of years he had spent refusing to say it out loud broke his heart slightly.

“I never dared to presume that the love I felt coming from you could be directed at me,” Crowley continued as they were still slow dancing, “I just always assumed it was your general love for the Universe.”

“Oh, I do love the Universe, and you are part of it my dear. But I also love you specifically, for yourself I mean.”

Crowley did not answer that. He could not find the words to express how happy he was to hear these words, how healing it was for his soul. He did not need to say it, anyway. Aziraphale could feel it well enough on his own. He just hugged his husband tighter and they kept dancing in the middle of the tent, under the summer sky, surrounded by friends. He could feel the flowers progressively become less terrified, but he could not bring himself to care for the moment. As long as they behaved.

-

They found themselves sitting in the grass at one point in the night, looking at the stars. The music had died down some time ago and the Them had been taken back to their respective homes by an exhausted Newton. Shadwell had fallen asleep – or more accurately passed out drunk – on a table, snorting loudly. It had been a fine day, indeed, Aziraphale thought, gazing silently at the firmament above their heads. He was wondering what they were supposed to be doing, now. What was really going through Her metaphorical disembodied head right now? What was Her plan? He had no idea and, frankly, that felt him with a bit of unease.

Crowley nudged him slightly and the angel turned towards him. Right, now was not the night to wonder about these things. This was the night to celebrate, not to worry.

“What are you thinking of, angel?”

“Oh, well,” Aziraphale paused to think for a few seconds, “I was wondering what Heaven and Hell are planning next. That whole arranged marriage sounds…”

“Bizarre?”

“Yes. Unexpected. I cannot imagine they will just leave us be.”

“I don’t know. I told Beelzebub I would be corrupting you and they seemed fine with that.”

“And that would be it? Both of us trying to drag the other towards our side? That’s their new Great Plan?”

“Maybe.” Crowley combed through his hair with his hand, thoughtful, “Maybe they just want to experiment to see if that’s possible… a demon being led to the light again, or an angel being corrupted.”

“The first step in a new type of warfare?”

“Yeah.”

That didn’t seem out of the realms of possibility at all. It actually sounded logical. They had tried the proxy war for 6000 years, then tried to launch the direct fighting… only to see it fail completely. Maybe they were trying a more insidious way of undermining the other side.

“Anyway, whatever their plan actually is about,” Crowley shrugged, “we’ll power through it as we did before, won’t we?”

“I admire your optimism, my dear.”

“There’s really no point in worrying about it now. We’ll burn the bridge when we cross it, you know.”

“I think the correct phrase is-”

“I know what the correct phrase it, my angel. I’m just making a point.”

“Oh, I see.”

Crowley let himself fall backward to lay on his back in the grass. He was wearing his glasses, even in the dark of the night, and Aziraphale did not know what he was looking at. Probably the stars. With a sigh, and one thought for his light-coloured clothes, he laid down, pressing his body against the demon’s, arm circling Crowley’s waist.

It was such a beautiful night.


End file.
